


prey instinct

by ashglory



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Introspection, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashglory/pseuds/ashglory
Summary: You've been doomed since that first indulgence, you know. And yet, you keep stumbling back into Julia's embrace anyway.





	prey instinct

_Desire_ is the wrong word for the hole in you, a weak one. _Need_ is good. Or better yet, _hunger_.

It's been building all night, a lack that grows with every met glance, every returned smile. There are parts of you that regret succumbing the first time, all those weeks ago. Reward it for good behavior, and punish it for the bad, and the mind can be tricked into accepting new habits, new routines. 

(And you know intimately how easy you are to train.) 

And when your vulnerability is rewarded with Julia's warmth curled around you, her breath in your ear, the syllables of your name said reverently as if in prayer... You've been doomed since that first indulgence, you know. And yet, you keep stumbling back into Julia's embrace anyway.

But those were yesterday's regrets, and will be tomorrow's. For now, in the moment, there is no regretting this:

Lights off. Clothes shed. Skin on skin, and heart overlaid on heart. She's so close that swear you can feel her pulse echoed in your veins. You're pushed flat on your back, soft sheets twisted beneath and another warmer, weightier softness atop you, and Julia is pressing her mouth to yours like she wants to own your breath. 

Your fingers trace the ellipses of ports embedded in her spine. She shivers deeper into your arms when you press just a little harder, just enough that she can feel the point of your nails trace proof of your existence into her sensitive skin.

You want to mark her. She branded you, seared the taste of her name onto your tongue. It’s only fair that her body bears the same bruises that your heart does. 

So you do. When Julia's lips part from yours for a breath you angle your head, turn to the slope of her neck. The feathery ends of her hair brush against your nose. You start with light presses of your lips along her jawline, and revel in her groans when you start adding your teeth as well.

“I'm going to have some prizes to show off tomorrow,” she says, when you grow bold enough to bite. All in one breath, each word comes out racing against the last. A pause, and then, slyly, "I want everyone to know I'm yours."

Heat surges through every vein at the thought. Your traitorous mind conjures the image of Julia wearing a dark collar of your bruises.

Your breath stutters, briefly, but you're sure she hears it. The laughter that escapes her in between her panting wouldn't be so wicked otherwise.

You never thought yourself possessive, but Julia proves to be the exception to so many of your rules. There's a soul within your soul, simple and animal, and it wants to take refuge in her. A creature's territory is all at once its shelter, source of sustenance, and home. It seems pointless now to try and identify when Julia became all three for you.

She’s trapped you under the high arch of her body, hands planted on either side of your shoulders, her legs entangled in yours. If there was ever a cage you maybe, possibly, wouldn't try to escape from, this one would come close.

Despite the darkness, you're sure the grin on her face is fever-bright, luminous to a sight beyond sight. It's a smile more fit for Charge than Julia, less an invitation than it is a thrown gauntlet. 

"Come on then," Julia whispers. "Make me yours."

* * *

It seems that every night you stay a little longer. The aftermath of your other mistakes are rarely so pleasant, and it becomes harder and harder to force yourself away each time you find yourself here. In the soft loose-limbed quiet that comes after, you could almost call yourself content.

But only almost.

The weight of Julia's arm settles around your waist. Your clothes are back on, the lights dim but enough to see by. She pulls in closer, and you can feel the curve of her lips press into your cheek. She smiles so often, now, when it's just the two of you.

“I love you,” she says, brazen, unafraid. Your heart shudders. When Julia says things like this, she never just _says_ them. From her mouth it sounds like promise, like prophecy.

Everything that has ever loved you has loved you only as wolves do prey: out of necessity, and with teeth. Julia’s may not be as sharp as most, but what difference does it make when it’s your throat laid bare in offering? Fang is fang, and pain is pain.

(And in the end, even the Farm didn’t love you, did they? What they demanded of you was obedience. What they offered, even less.

More fool you that epiphany took so long to strike. Even dogs knew to love the hand that fed them, and not the one that pulled their leash.)

“Don’t say that,” you croak. 

Her kisses follow the angles of your jaw. “I love you so much that I’d burn this city down for you,” she confesses. She says it, dangerously, like one would an oath. “The world. If it’d keep you safe. If you asked me to.”

Would she set herself ablaze for you, if you asked her? Would she stand aside and watch you strike the first match, if only you asked it of her?

A scoff almost escapes you. You know too well the answer to those questions. The answer to the first, an unquestionable yes. Julia wears her guilt the way marionettes have strings.

But you think she loves you too much to allow the second. She loves you as though you still have a choice. Perhaps she believes that if she loves hard enough, for long enough, it will pull you back up the cliffs you've thrown yourself off long ago.

You don't say, _"I don't want the world,"_ because even though it was true once upon a time, you're lightyears past the point of settling for scraps of dignity. You don't say, _"You would be enough,"_ because that would be an even worse lie. 

You have so many desires to chase. And even just in your mind, when you allow yourself to be gentle, as gentle as you possibly know, the iron-blooded truth of you is this: You have many impossible dreams. Not all of them involve Julia. Not all of them include her happiness.

And you can live with that.

Not always easily. Not always happily. But you could.

Julia asks things of you that you can never grant her. And there are things you need that she'll never give. You have no answer that Julia will want to hear. There's nothing more for you here, at least for tonight. 

Julia seems to sense where your thoughts are aimed before the fact, and when you start to shift your weight to the side, she catches your hand, lightning-quick. Her fingers interlace with yours.

"Stay the night," Julia pleads. You've never heard her so plaintive. “Just once. Please.”

She doesn’t hold on particularly hard. Your hand slips away like the receding tide.

As if it would be apology enough, you press one last kiss to her forehead, and pretend not to notice the creeping heartbreak that overtakes her expression. You're reminded of cornered animals, the older and world-weary ones, who simply wait when faced with death. Wise enough to recognize destiny, tired enough not to fight it. 

“I can't, Julia," you whisper against her skin. "I'm sorry."

You are sorrier than she will ever know.


End file.
